


Doctor's Orders

by beatlelover22



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Caretaking, Cold, Common Cold, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sick James Wilson (House M.D.), Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatlelover22/pseuds/beatlelover22
Summary: In which Wilson can’t admit he’s sick and says some regrettable stuff to House because he’s cranky.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day for James Wilson. One of his long-term patients, Cynthia Reynolds, was on her death bed essentially. Her leukemia had returned with a vengeance and on top of that, her liver was completely trashed. 

Due to her illness, she wouldn’t be able to be put on the transplant list and she desperately needed a new liver. Just when Wilson had thought she was in the clear, her cancer had knocked her back down and he knew she wasn’t going to be able to get back up. All he could think of all day were her green, pleading eyes, brimming with tears. “My cancer’s... back?”

Still thinking of Cynthia, he checked into Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and headed for his office. He’d barely had a chance to sit down before House came barging into the room.

Wilson sighed loudly. “You know, I really should get that name plate changed. I don’t know why it says ‘James Wilson’ because clearly, this isn’t actually my office.”

“Well, you’re extra irritable today,” House commented pleasantly. “Another patient of yours dying?”

“My patients die all the time.”

“That’s true, but you’re a little more... emotionally attached than most oncologists. You get to close to your patients. It’s a dangerous game you play.”

“I’m sorry for caring!” Wilson snapped, knocking over a cup of pens in the process. “Damn it.”

House limped over and set the tin upright. 

“I’m not picking those up,” he decided, eyeing the scattered writing utensils now covering the floor. His leg throbbed in agreement.

“What did you want, anyway?”

“I wanted to see if you were hungry, but seeing how cranky you are, I’m guessing you’re not in the mood to grab some lunch?”

“Lunch sounds good, actually.” Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a small sigh.

This might take awhile, House thought to himself, collapsing into the sofa and letting his cane fall to the floor. “How long have you had the headache?”

Sometimes Wilson forgot how analytical House was about everything. Times like these, he wished House lacked the ability to analyze completely.

“If you’re curious,” House began, “You either massage your temples or pinch the bridge of your nose when you have a headache. Totally predictable.”

“Um... _hh’ **ISHHHHT!**_ ” The sneeze caught him by complete surprise and Wilson barely had time to get his hand up.

House sat back down. “I don’t like the sound of that.” He studied his friend closely and squinted at him a bit. “You’re sick.”

“No, I’m not,” Wilson replied, all too quickly in House’s opinion. “Besides, since when do you care about my well-being?”

“I always care about your well-being!” the man protested, pretended to look hurt. Although his tone was sarcastic, he actually did worry over Wilson. Not that he’d ever in his right mind admit that.

Wilson decided to try a different approach. “I’m not sick, just... tired.”

“No you’re not.”

“House!” Wilson threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “I’m fine!”

“You,” House pointed his cane accusingly at his friend, “Took a walk in 45 degree weather two days ago and left your coat behind.”

“So?” he inquired, annoyed. “I had a lot on my mind!”

“So, your immune system would’ve been compromised enough for you to pick up a virus, say, the common cold. It explains the headache and sneezing.”

“I sneezed once!”

“Whatever. I’m still hungry. You coming or not?”

“No, on second thought I’m not that hungry. And don’t add that to your list of imaginary symptoms!”

* * *

After House left, Wilson allowed himself to pop a couple ibuprofen. In all honesty, he felt like crap. Was he going to admit it to House? Of course not. That would be enabling, in a sense.

When his mouth stretched into a wide yawn, he gave in. He had an appointment with a patient at two o’clock and a small nap would probably be good for him. Wilson folded his arms and put his head down on the desk, giving him vague memories of the “naps” he took in med school in the lecture hall.

* * *

“Wilson!” House shouted, clanging his cane on the metal of the doorframe.

Wilson, who was sleeping soundly as well as snoring, jumped at the loud, intrusive sounds. “Augh!”

“You planning on going home tonight?”

“House...” he muttered groggily. “Of course I’m going home. Why would I— oh my God. What time is it?!” He quickly sat upright, knocking over the cup of pens, again.

“About 8:30.”

“Dammit.” Wilson rubbed his face roughly and groaned. “I had an appointment with a patient.”

“Key word being ‘had’. Come on, let’s go.”

“It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t dozed off, I wouldn’t have missed it. I was gonna catch up on paper work too...” he trailed off, feeling an itch in his sinuses. “ _Hihh’ **GSHHHH!** Heh’ **SHOO!**_ Ugh...”

“Ready to admit you’re sick yet?”

“I’m not—” His nostrils flared and his cupped his hands over his mouth and nose with impressive speed. “ _Ihh’ **GISHHHOO!**_ ”

“Did you know that doctors often ignore their symptoms because they think they can’t get sick?” 

At Wilson’s aggravated glare, he added, “It’s a known statistic.”

“I can’t believe I blew off that patient today. He’s going through so much right now; just recently diagnosed with lung cancer. I was supposed to talk to him, give him advice.” The oncologist ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Help him... come to terms with his illness.”

“It’s not your fault; you were tired. Call him back, reschedule.”

“It’s not so easy for those of us who actually have a conscience!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. 

“House, that’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it was! You’re right too, I just can’t relate.” He shrugged, twirling his cane absent-mindedly.

“House...”

The man merely nodded at him dismissively. “Go home, get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hep’ESHHOO! Hurr’ESHHH! ETSCH! Ahhh... ahH! Guh, id wend away.” Wilson pouted, angrily rubbing his nose with the underside of his wrist.
> 
> “Don’t worry sweetie, he wasn’t worth your time,” House answered sarcastically, petting his Wilson’s damp hair. For once in his life, his hair actually looked... not perfect.

The following morning, Cuddy wasn’t the least bit surprised when House stormed into her office, throwing the door open with a bang. 

“Where’s Wilson?” he demanded.

Cuddy stopped typing to glance up at him. “Wilson? He called in sick.”

“Did he now...” House muttered to himself, obviously deep in thought.  
“Why? Just yesterday he was trying to convince me he wasn’t sick. It seems I was right after all. Huh.”

Cuddy gave him a stern look. “Don’t you dare go bother him.” She knew exactly what House was like. Not only did he always have to be right, he always was right. She could only imagine the horrid things House would do to Wilson... the taunting, annoying and aggravating him to no end. House was... House.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Does that even sound like me?”

She pretended to consider it for a moment. “Yes.”

“Any who, I’m gonna have to go home early. I think I may be coming down with something.” He gave a few, terribly faked kitten coughs and grimaced in imaginary pain. “Might be bronchitis.”

Cuddy sighed. How could she have not seen this coming? “Well, by all means, don’t stay here at the hospital despite all the clinic hours you’re behind in.”

“I’ll get Foreman to take care of them.”

“Say hi to Wilson for me.”

* * *

House ventured into the apartment, curious as to what he’d find. He searched every room, finding not a single trace of Wilson. It was only when the heap of blankets on Wilson’s bed shuddered, sneezed, then groaned did House finally conclude the whereabouts of his best friend.

He used his cane to hook the sheets and carefully pulled them back, revealing a shirtless oncologist, clad only in his navy, plaid boxers.

“House...” Wilson moaned hoarsely. “I think I’b sigg.”

“Told ya so.”

“Did you just cobe here to gloat? Because if so, I’b perfecgtly fide with — _ehhh... hehh... eh’ **HISHOOO!** — _I’b perfecgtly fide with beig by byself.” He shivered lightly, though his skin glistened with sweat.

“Wilson...” House started, lowing his voice a little. “You have a fever.”

“R-really?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” House said, helping Wilson into a seated position and adjusting the pillows of the bed so he could lean up against them.

“Everythigg hurds, House.”

“I have some Vicodin, if you want.”

Even in Wilson’s semi-delirious state, he glared at House. “Are you k-kiddig be?”

“Yes. Now, let me take your temperature.”

Wilson nodded seriously. “Okay. Do I deed to take by _b-bahhh... **ATSCHHH!**_ ” The sneeze sounded harsh and House almost winced. “Do I deed to take off by boxers?”

“No! No, no, no. Leave those on.” House’s eyes darted towards the door and he contemplated leaving. 

It’d be so easy. Wilson was delirious enough that he probably wouldn’t remember House’s short visit (or if he did, he’d assume it was a fever dream). House could call in a hooker to take care of him. She probably would too, especially given that House was willing to pay double.

“Open.”

“Okay.” Wilson did as told and stretched his mouth into a yawn. “Mm... sorry.”

“You tired?” House asked as he coaxed the thermometer under the man’s tongue. When Wilson began blabbering gibberish, House decided against it. “You know what? Don’t answer that. The bags under your eyes tell me enough.”

“H-Houth...” Wilson mumbled, eyes fluttering. “I... I feel...”

“What? Hot? Cold? Heart? Dizzy? Pain?”

“ _Hah’ **SCHSSSH!**_ ” 

The thermometer came barreling out of the oncologist’s mouth at an incredible speed. 

House exhaled loudly. “I’m going to try this again and hopefully you can do it without sneezing. Because I do have another type of thermometer...” Again, House inserted the stick underneath his tongue. “Doing okay? Nose not tickling?”

Wilson nodded. “I’b fidth.”

Not more than ten seconds later, House saw his friend’s nostrils flare out of his peripheral vision. “ _Ehhh... hethhhh..._ ” His breath hitched a bit, chest rising quickly. “ _EhhhH!_ ”

“Oh no you don’t,” House muttered, jamming his forefinger under Wilson’s itching nose. 

He rubbed it a bit for good measure and sighed in relief when he heard Wilson let out his breath. The man’s red nostrils flared against his knuckle, then relaxed. Consequently, House felt it safe enough to let go of his nose.

“Thagth.”

“Don’t thank me until we’re done with this.”

When the device beeped, House snatched it out of Wilson’s mouth and stared it down. “102. Could be worse.” He could practically hear Wilson’s voice in his head insisting, “Could be better.”

“Cad I...? _Hahh... hahhH!_ ”

House glanced up from the thermometer to see Wilson pinching his nose shut with his thumb and forefinger. “For God’s sake, sneeze if you have to!” He yanked Wilson’s wrist away from his face, releasing a volley of harsh, wet sneezes.

“ _Hep’ **ESHHOO!** Hurr’ **ESHHH!** **ETSCH!** Ahhh... ahH!_ Guh, id wend away.” Wilson pouted, angrily rubbing his nose with the underside of his wrist.

“Don’t worry sweetie, he wasn’t worth your time,” House answered sarcastically, petting his Wilson’s damp hair. For once in his life, his hair actually looked... not perfect.

“ _Eh’ **SHOOOO!**_ There id is.” He sneezed suddenly on the back of his hand and sniffled.

“Do you have any tissues?” House inquired. He might actually need a few boxes of those.

“I think I rad oud.”

House nodded grimly. “I’ll go get some.”

There was another breathy inhale before two rushed sneezes. “ _Hih’ **SHOO! ATSCHHH!**_ ”

“I’ll be back sooner rather than later.” House promised, before grabbing his cane. “In the meantime... watch some TV and try not to sneeze your brains out.”

“I’ll try.” Wilson pulled the sheets up to his chin, overcome by chills again.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do realize you’re allowed to sneeze in your own home, right?” House quipped, pointed accusingly at Wilson’s irritated, red nose. “That thing is just begging you to let it sneeze.”
> 
> Wilson blushed bright crimson and swallowed hard. “Sorry, I just haahhhh... hate this.”

Wilson shivered in his bed, shaking with fever. He light brown hair stuck to his forehead and he opened his eyes in a daze; Wilson stared in shock as Cynthia, his cancer patient, glared at him from across the room.

“Why’d you let me die?” she asked him, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m dead because of you!”

“No...” Wilson scrambled back into his bed post. He shook his head. “No, you’re not— it’s not my fault!”

“My chest hurts.” The young woman clutched her chest, gasping for breath. “I can’t... br-breathe...”

No, this could not be happening. Wilson swung his feet over the side of the bed and stumbled over to where she sat, taking in shallow breaths. Her eyes abruptly rolled back into her head and she collapsed onto the floor.

“No!” the oncologist shouted, watching her lifeless body. He placed one hand over the other and attempted to manually beat a rhythm into her heart. 1, 2, 3, 4... “C’mon, Cynthia! Breathe! You can do it!” Wilson panted, pressing down on the woman’s chest, still counting. “Breathe! Breathe!”

House threw opened the door loudly. “Wilson! What the hell are you—?” He cursed under his breath, groceries falling from his hands.

Wilson felt somebody else’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him off his patient. “No, I can save her! It’s me, I have too—” He broke off into an intense fit of coughing, causing him to be the one gasping for breath.

“Wilson! You’re okay, you’re hallucinating. Listen to my voice. There’s nobody here except you and me. No patients.”

Wilson finally stopped coughing and looked around at the now empty room. “But where’s...? Where’s Cynthia?”

House hauled the other man to his feet. “She’s gone. Not here, that’s for sure.” With one arm tossed over House’s shoulder, the pair hobbled over towards the bed, where Wilson climbed back in.

“It’s so h-hot,” he informed his friend, teeth chattering.

House groaned. “I think you’re fever got worse. Which means you just made my life a lot harder.”

“S-sorry,” Wilson mumbled, eyes watering.

House blinked, in complete shock that Wilson would be so emotional. “Wilson, that’s not what I meant. Don’t cry, I don’t do ‘crying grown men.’ It’s not in my job descrip—”

Wilson shook his head, jaw slack. “ _Ah’ **KTSCHOOO!** Hurr’ **ESHHH!**_ ”

“Ah. You weren’t crying, your eyes were just watering because you had to sneeze. Right. Well, you can just forget everything I said.”

“ _Hih’ **TSHUUUHH!**_ ”

“Bless.” House was wringing out a cold wash cloth. He placed it on Wilson’s forehead and another across his neck, causing him to sigh in relief.

“Thad feels good.”

“It’s supposed to you moron. You were burning up. Still are, technically. Go to sleep and do us all a favor.”

* * *

When Wilson woke up — completely lucid and fever broken — he didn’t recall House even being there. 

He let out a light moan and kicked off the sweat-soaked sheets. “ _Sdff_...” he sniffled, rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. When he reopened his eyes, he was only half-surprised that his pants and shirt seemed to be missing; he’d probably just slept in his boxers in his fever-induced haze.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” House said, pushing open the door with his cane.

Wilson gasped and quickly yanked the blankets up to his chin, covering his exposed body. “Oh! H-House! Oh by god, how did you—?”

“Relax,” House told him with a necessary eye-roll. “It’s not as if I’ve never seen you naked before.”

When Wilson gave him a confused looked, House continued. “Oh, wait. Yeah, this might be a first.”

“How did you even get in _huhhh..._ h-here?” He discreetly rubbed a finger under his nose, trying to hold it at bay.

“You gave me a key, dumbass.”

“Oh. _Rihhhh... ihhh._.. right.”

“You do realize you’re allowed to sneeze in your own home, right?” House quipped, pointed accusingly at Wilson’s red nose. “That thing is just begging you to let it sneeze.”

Wilson blushed bright crimson and swallowed hard. “Sorry, I just _haahhhh._.. hate this.”

“You’re sick; it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Easy for you to _sahh_... s-say.” Wilson’s speaking was getting more and more breathy and his nostrils were flaring excitedly. “ _Ehhh... hahhh_...”

“Let it out! Let it out!” House cheered, pounded his cane on the floor in a rhythm.

Wilson pressed the knuckle of his index finger to the underside of his nose, cruelly stopping the sneeze. “Thad’s better.”

“Is it though?” House squinted, considering. “No, I don’t think so.”

As Wilson shakily lowered his hand, his breath caught and began hitching. Before he could do anything, the tickle came barreling back, full force. 

“ _Hurr’ **ASHHOOO!** Eh’ **TSCHHH!** K’ **SHHH!** Hep’ **TCHUHH!**_ ” Shoulders hunched, he sneezed on into cupped hands as House watched on, pretending to be intrigued. “Wow, that’s like, 12 isn’t it?”

“ _Hah’ **ASCHHH!**_ ” Wilson sniffed thickly behind his hand. “Ub... House?”

“What? You’re expecting an applause?”

He watched Wilson’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. “Do you have a tissue?”  
“I have a sleeve. Two, actually,” House answered, glancing down at his plaid sleeves.

“Pl-please. I have _t-to... ahhh... ahhH!_ ” He was gulping in air, trying so hard not to give in to the relentless itch. “ _Ehh_... H-House!”

“Fine, fine.” He turned away, digging through the plastic bags for the tissues, all the while having to listen to Wilson’s idiotic, hitching breaths.

Finally, the need to sneeze was too great and Wilson’s eyes fluttered shut. “ _AhhH!_ ” 

He felt House pressing a handful of tissues up to his face and he let go. “ _Ih’ **TSHHH!** Ak’ **SHOOO!** Huhh... hehhH! Hur’ **EXXXSHHHH!**_ ” He sighed into the soft tissue in relief.

“Blow,” House ordered, still holding the somewhat-damp tissues to his friend’s face.

“Whad? Bud House I cad’t—”

“Don’t argue, can you even hear yourself? You’re congested and it’s annoying. B-L-O-W,” he snapped.

Wilson did as instructed and felt relief as well as embarrassment afterwards. “If you ever mention that to anyone, I’ll tell everyone about your monthly mani/pedi appointments.”

“I like my nails in good shape!”


End file.
